The morning had started quietly, but everyone knew what day it was. Matchday.
Even before sunrise, the hotel where Palmeiras were staying buzzed with energy.
The players went through breakfast quietly, some with headphones in, some chatting softly, some lost in their own thoughts.
There was a nervous calm in the air — the kind that always comes before something big.
This wasn't just any preseason friendly. It was Inter Miami versus Palmeiras — Messi versus the new generation.
For Abel Ferreira, it was more than a friendly. It was preparation for redemption.
Since 2023, Palmeiras hadn't won a major trophy, and that fact haunted every member of its squad.
They'd come close several times, but "close" meant nothing at a club like Palmeiras.
Abel had built teams that could press, attack, defend — but this season, he wanted a team that could win again.
That's why every training session of the preseason had been intense.
Players were fighting for positions, for trust, for a chance to start when the real season began.
And among them, one boy stood out — not because of his age, but because of his heart.
Gabriel Silva. Fifteen years old. The youngest in the team, the quietest in the locker room — but with a spark that no one could deny.
For him, today wasn't just about a game. It was about living a dream.
He was going to share the same pitch as Lionel Messi.
And not only that — he was starting.
By 2:30 p.m., the players were back from their light training session and team lunch.
The schedule was clear: rest until four, then get ready for departure.
Gabriel sat by the window in his hotel room, looking down at the streets of Miami.
The city was alive — fans in pink shirts walking around, kids waving Messi flags, street vendors selling scarves.
It was hard to believe that in just a few hours, he'd be down there, part of all of this.
His roommate, Gómez, lay on the other bed scrolling through his phone.
"You good, kid?" he asked without looking up.
"Yeah," Gabriel said. "Just thinking."
Gómez chuckled. "You've been thinking all morning. You're going to burn your brain before kickoff."
Gabriel laughed quietly. "It's just… Messi, you know? I've watched him since I was little.
Now I'm playing against him. It's crazy."
Gómez finally looked up and smiled.
"Yeah, it's Messi. But don't let the name scare you. He's human too."
"Yeah, but he's Messi," Gabriel repeated. "He's not like the others."
Gómez shrugged. "You'll see. He's smart, fast, and impossible to predict — but once you get close to him, you realize something."
"What?"
"That he's not magic. He's just a man who worked harder than everyone else.
The real magic is what he makes you feel when you watch him."
Gabriel nodded slowly. He'd never thought of it that way.
Then Gómez grinned. "Anyway, don't worry about him. I'll handle him."
Gabriel burst out laughing. "Handle Messi? Come on, bro. He's going to make you dance."
Gómez raised an eyebrow. "You think so?"
"Yeah! You'll be on TikTok before halftime," Gabriel teased.
"Listen," Gómez said, sitting up. "I've played against him before. I know what to expect."
Gabriel looked surprised. "You have?"
"Of course. Paraguay versus Argentina. November 14th, last year. We beat them 2–1.
I marked Messi the whole game. Didn't score. Couldn't even find space."
Gabriel's eyes widened. "Seriously? You started that match?"
"Yep," Gómez said proudly. "He's good, but he's not untouchable."
Gabriel smiled, shaking his head. "I didn't know that. You never told anyone."
Gómez shrugged. "No one asked."
They both laughed, and for a while, the nervousness faded. It felt like any other day — two friends joking about football.
At exactly 4:00 p.m., a knock came on their door. "Bus leaves in 15!" shouted one of the staff.
Gabriel zipped up his tracksuit, took one last look in the mirror, and whispered to himself, "Let's do this."
The team bus rolled out of the hotel parking lot at 4:10 p.m.
Inside, the atmosphere was electric — a mix of music, laughter, and focused silence. Some players had headphones on, lost in their own world. Others, like Pereira and Roque , were joking around, keeping the mood light.
But everyone knew this match meant something.
Playing against Messi wasn't just about facing a football legend — it was about measuring yourself against the best.
Gabriel sat by the window next to Gómez, watching the Miami streets blur by.
Palm trees, billboards, cars filled with fans — everything looked like a movie scene.
He glanced around the bus. Abel Ferreira sat near the front, notebook in hand, occasionally looking back at his players. You could tell he was proud but cautious.
For him, every detail mattered — from warm-ups to mindset.
Half an hour later, the bus turned a corner — and suddenly, the stadium appeared.
It rose like a giant shell of light and noise. Fans everywhere.
Pink everywhere. The Inter Miami banners waved, and the chants echoed through the parking lots. "Messi! Messi! Messi!"
Gabriel pressed his forehead against the glass. He could see kids holding signs with Messi's name, grown men wearing his Barcelona and Argentina jerseys. It was overwhelming.
Gómez nudged him. "Welcome to Miami."
The bus stopped at 4:30 p.m., right on schedule. Security led them through a side entrance.
The moment the doors opened, the noise hit them — a deep, rolling roar of thousands of voices.
It wasn't hostile, just loud.
As they stepped off, a few Palmeiras fans waved from behind barriers — maybe a few hundred at most, wearing green and white.
Some held flags that read, "We are here for Palmeiras' Messi — Gabriel Silva!" Others wore shirts with "Our Messi" printed under his number, 46.
Gabriel noticed one young boy — maybe eight or nine — wearing his jersey and holding a homemade sign: "Go Gabriel, our wonder kid!"
That made him smile. Even here, far from home, he wasn't completely alone.
Inside the tunnel, the players could still hear the crowd outside chanting. Mostly for Messi, but still — the sound was incredible.
Gómez leaned closer and said quietly, "You see? This is what football is about. Noise. Passion.
It doesn't matter who they're cheering for — it's the energy that counts."
Gabriel nodded, but his stomach fluttered. It was the first time he'd ever played in a stadium where almost no one was there for him.
The Palmeiras dressing room was quiet when they entered. Cool air, white walls, and a row of green shirts hanging neatly in lockers.
Each jersey waited — name, number, sponsor, perfectly folded shorts beneath.
Gabriel found his — number 46. He stared at it for a long moment before touching the fabric.
It felt real now.
He thought back to being seven years old, juggling a ball barefoot on the streets of Curitiba .
His mother was watching from the window, shouting for him to come eat dinner. He used to tell her, "One day, I'll have my own jersey in a big stadium.
" She'd always smile and say, You better go for your books. For his mother education was always first before anything else.
And here he was.
He sat down, pulled out his phone, and looked at a picture of his family. His mom, dad, and little sister — all smiling.
He knew they were watching tonight, even from thousands of kilometers away.
"Proud of you already, filho," his mother had texted earlier that morning.
He smiled, put the phone away, and took a deep breath.
Around him, teammates chatted, stretched, taped their ankles.
The staff moved around, handing out water bottles, checking gear.
Then Abel Ferreira walked in.
Immediately, the room fell silent.
Abel stood in the middle, holding a clipboard, eyes scanning each face.
His presence carried weight — not because he shouted, but because everyone respected him.
"Alright, listen," he began, voice steady. "We've had a good preseason.
The results don't matter — what matters is how we've prepared.
Tonight is another step. Another chance to learn."
He paused, letting his words sink in.
"Inter Miami has quality. They have Messi. You all know what that means.
One mistake near the box — he punishes you. So be smart. No silly fouls. No unnecessary risks."
He looked around, making eye contact with his defenders. "Stay compact.
Communicate. Don't let him find space between the lines."
Then he turned to the midfielders. "When we win the ball, move it quickly.
Don't hold it too long. Release early, switch play, make them chase.
They're not comfortable when they have to defend for long spells."
He pointed toward the attackers. "Last game, we created chances and didn't finish them. That can't happen again.
If you get one, bury it. The difference between good teams and champions is what they do with their chances."
Finally, his eyes settled on Gabriel.
"You," he said gently. "Just play your football. Don't think about who's on the other side. Forget the name.
Forget the noise. You've earned this spot because you deserve it.
You don't need to prove anything — just be yourself."
Gabriel nodded, his heart racing.
"Control the ball, scan the field, make good decisions. You're the link between our midfield and attack.
We trust you to create. Don't rush. Don't freeze. Just play."
Abel smiled. "You're fifteen, yes — but talent doesn't have an age."
The room was silent, everyone listening.
Then Abel raised his voice slightly. "We're far from home. You won't hear your names from the stands tonight.
But that's fine. We don't play for applause — we play for the badge."
The players nodded, some clapping quietly in agreement.
Abel continued, "Stick together. Fight together. Focus. Enjoy the game, but respect the shirt. That's all I ask."
He closed his notebook. "Now go warm up. And remember — no one can silence your heart."
The room erupted in a unified shout: "VAMOS! VERDÃO!"
As they stood up, Gómez gave Gabriel a firm pat on the shoulder.
"Go out there and make a name for yourself, kid," he whispered.
Gabriel smiled. "I will."
He tied his boots, feeling the familiar grip of the laces, and stood up. The noise from outside grew louder — the stadium was nearly full now.
As he walked down the tunnel toward the pitch for warm-ups, he felt a mix of fear and joy swirling inside him.
The lights, the smell of grass, the rumble of thousands of fans — it was everything he'd ever imagined and more.
He took a deep breath, looked up, and whispered to himself, "This is it. The dream starts now."